


We'll Be Okay

by DepartedNullification



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: All characters except Frisk and Sans are only briefly mentioned, Although you might skim over that last thing and never find it tbh, Brief mentions of negative body image, Brief suicidal ideation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor monsters are mentioned, POV First Person, Sans can relate, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepartedNullification/pseuds/DepartedNullification
Summary: In one of the timelines, Sans discovers something about Frisk.





	1. Chapter 1

You find yourself back at the beginning.

A familiar chill crept through your sweater, and brought you mild discomfort.

Through all your precious moments of mercy, supporting your friends, and arriving above ground, you always return to the beginning. It was frustrating. Lonely.

Their memories departed the moment you set foot in the ruins.

You were left with these.. Urges. You had the ability to manipulate as you please. You could destroy them, **and oh, how incompetent they are** , you could leave them with nothing, as they have left you.

You know an entity, **Chara** , were the source of these thoughts. These cravings.

This time around, during your “fight” with Toriel, the urge came back with an indescribable vengeance. Now, you were just outside the ruins.

You prop yourself up against the bush, that was previously on the left-hand side.

**Those useless idiots don’t deserve your kindness.**

Who were you to criticize your friends? They would be disgusted with you, had you ever revealed your secret to them. Your habit, vile, and disgraceful, needed to be fed. Constantly.

**Worthless.**

The knife, the Real Knife, was beckoning you from your pocket. Before you could do anything, you rummaged your hands through the bush, and destroyed the camera within. You’ve done this before, it was an action without any real consequences, but you refused to get caught indulging in your special habit.

The Real Knife stuck with you throughout every reset. It was a stale reminder of your sins. The one timeline where you let Chara control your actions. You can still feel the dust between your fingertips.

The scars were another painful reminder of your sins.

Your sweater was more itchy than usual. Upon removal of the sweater, the white lines that criss-crossed along your arms became visible once more. It felt gratifying to let your scars breathe. Your undershirt was a brilliant sky blue that allowed easy access to your arms.

You remove the old, sticky bandage from the wrist on your left arm. You didn’t have enough to cover the large quantity of cuts you’ve made, and you definitely did not have medicine to apply to them.

The skin beneath the deeper ones was inflamed, and painful. The cuts from your last timeline were infected, but there was nothing you could do. Perhaps, this time, you’ll have the time to rummage through Alphys’ stuff before your encounter with Mettaton. She was bound to have medicine somewhere.

You press the Real Knife against your wrist, directly above the infected cuts.

**A coward like you should be dead.**

Your hand shakes with anticipation, and a small part of you knows that this is wrong. The Real Knife is brought into flesh, and you hiss through your teeth.

**You killed them. Monster.**

The singular gash on your wrist is accompanied with another, directly below it. They’re huge pits that sink into your skin, and the pain replaces the bad thoughts of redemption. Puddles of blood sink into chunks of snow beneath your arm. You cover what you can with the old bandage, which isn’t much. Splashes of red sink through the bandage, and you quickly decide to pull your striped sweater over your head, to rest uncomfortably over your frail body.

The sleeves conceal the damage on your arms.

You stagger back onto your feet, and push yourself towards the gate. By the time you reach it, you can faintly hear the familiar crunching of snow beneath one’s feet. You know what to expect.

“Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

You turn, and a soft “ _pfffffft_ ” greets you as you grasp Sans’ left hand.

“That’s one way to _break the ice_.” Sans was absolutely beaming at the pun, one that almost brings you to tears.

“You’re a human, right? That’s hilarious. I’m Sans. Sans the skeleton. I’m actually suppose to be on watch for huma---” 

**Was he always this boring?**

“...Hey, are you giving me the _cold shoulder_?”

You groan loudly, and Sans chuckles in return, much to your dismay.

“Yeah, go right through. My bro made the bars too wide to stop anyone.”

Once you reach the clearing, you notice that it’s completely vacant. No sentry post, no conveniently-shaped lamp.

“How many innocent lives will you take this time?”

**He remembers.**

Glancing at the skeleton behind you, you notice that his eye sockets are devoid of his typically white pupils.

“S-Sans?” You take several steps back, out of fear. You know what this skeleton is capable of.

Sans removes his hands from his hoodie pockets to reveal the Real Knife. You must have dropped it before greeting him.

“You aren’t very _sharp_ , are you?” Sans shoves the Real Knife back into his pocket, without breaking eye contact with you.

You begin scratching at your arm with a tinge of anxiety.

“How many defenseless monsters have you killed?”

“..I’m sorry, I--”

“Stop pretending to be human.”

“I deserve to die for what I’ve done.”

Sans appears confused for a few moments, before grabbing you by your hand, and yanking you towards him.

“You’re bleeding.” Sans notes, nonchalantly, and gestures to your sweater.

You pull yourself out of Sans’ grip, and grasp your left arm with your right hand.

Sure enough, blood is seeping through the sleeves, and stains your fingertips.

“C’mere,” Sans beckons you, dim white pupils returning with vague curiosity.

With a pitiful sniffle, you somehow manage to horizontally hold your arm outwards, towards Sans, while keeping your eyes on your shoes.

Hands of bone cautiously pull the left sleeve down, to your forearms.

You expect some sort of reaction. A look of disgust, shock, or a pun about your current condition, but instead, Sans remains silent while observing the wounds.

Distal phalanges move carefully across the cuts, as though to determine their depth.

Sans glances upwards at you.

“We should get you wrapped up. I know a shortcut,” Sans takes one of your hands within his own.

Next thing you know, you find yourself inside Sans’ and Papyrus’ house.

Sans guides you to the couch, before disappearing inside the kitchen.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. It takes everything for you to have a little self-control. You would love to pick apart the scabs within your vision.

“Hey kid, mind removing your sweater?” Sans returns, with a variety of medical equipment levitating behind him.

You remove your striped sweater without question.

Sans uses his magic to both keep your arm steady, and to clean the cuts with a damp towel, while manually opening new MTT-Brand bandages.

The old, sticky bandage you had on previously is quickly disposed of.

“Why are you helping me? I thought you h-hated me..” You sniffle once more.

“Something wasn’t right. I could feel it in my _bones_ ,” Upon deeming your arm clean, Sans applies several, colorful MTT-Brand bandages, “Frisk. I didn’t think it was you, at first. This isn't healthy. I’m going to need you to _cut it out_.”

Sans uses his magic to move the damp towel, alongside the blood-soaked sweater, into a different room, most-likely to clean them.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Ah. _It takes one to snow one_ ,” Sans sheepishly grins, and removes his blue hoodie to offer it to you, “you need this more than I do.”

The kind gesture fills you with determination.

You slip into Sans’ hoodie. It smells of ketchup.

Throughout every timeline, Sans had never removed his precious hoodie before.

You take a moment to glance over at Sans.

Sans was wearing a rather simple white T-shirt. Nothing extraordinary, except…

His radius’ had sections of bone missing from them.

Self-inflicted bone chipping? Was his fatalistic attitude to blame? Was it your fault?

Sans catches your stare, and shrugs, before going in for a surprise hug.

“We’ll be okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tears flow freely from your eyes and onto Sans’ shirt, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen.

“Geez, kid.. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sans’ traditionally dimpled smile melts into a frown, “C’mon, you’re safe now.”

You immediately respond with the shaking of your head.

“Why wouldn’t you be safe here? What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nobody remembers me,” You remove yourself from Sans’ embrace, and wipe away stray tears with the sleeve of Sans’ hoodie, “Even you can’t remember everything. I feel so.. alone.”

An onslaught of tears begin to fall from your puffy eyes. Sans hesitates to comfort you.

“..then why do you keep resetting?”

“Every time I bring the monsters above ground… the timeline resets itself. I’m not controlling it, Sans!”

“......” Sans reaches out to squeeze your shoulder in support. “..we’ll figure this out together, Frisk. You aren’t alone.”

“Did you do this?” You ask quietly, as you pull one of his flimsy arms up for inspection, “Does anyone know about this?”

“Ahh, those. _Tibia honest_ , kid, they’re old news,” Sans looks somewhat amused, “Without Papyrus, I don’t know where I’d be,” Sans rubs at one of his scarred radius’ with his phalanges, “It's important to reach out for help.”

You take a moment to glance down at the bandages covering your arms.

Were you so addicted to your own pain that you didn't even notice Sans’ condition? Of course, his weren't recent, not like yours.

“I'm not like you, I.. I don't know if I can stop.”

“Kid--”

“I don't know if I want to stop.”

**Disgusting. An authentic monster has more self-control than you, a being with determination. Disgraceful.**

“I deserve this,” You mutter, more to yourself than to Sans, “I don't deserve your kindness.”

“Honestly, kid, nobody deserves to feel like they ‘deserve’ to hurt themselves. Especially not you.”

Your left arm hurt tremendously. You were almost tempted to start rubbing over the bandages, but they’d likely peel off if you did.

“..you look like you could use some grub. I’m going to Grillby’s. Wanna come?”

“Oh..” You could probably go for something.. Small. Something very small. With every battle follows many nice creams, and instant noodles. You’ve never eaten outside of battle before, “Sure. Did you want your hoodie back?”

“Nah kid. Don’t want you catchin’ a cold. Wanna take a shortcut?”

“It’s not that far. Can’t we just.. walk?” 

Sans feigns surprise for your amusement, “What is this ‘walking’ you speak of?”

“Come on!” You rush to the door, and exit the house without checking to see if Sans was behind you.

The cold hits you immediately, and without Sans’ hoodie, you’d be nothing short of a _Friskicle_.

You notice Sans in the distance, waiting just outside of Grillby’s.

He must have teleported.

His laziness brings a small smile to your face as you hurry to catch up to him.

Together, you enter the warm pub, and sit at the bar.

As if on cue, you hear another whoopee cushion go off from beneath you.

A familiar “ _pfffffft_ ” echoes from within the pub, provoking a few surrounding monsters to chuckle, even though they’ve heard it a million times before.

“Whoops, watch where you sit down. Sometimes weirdos put whoopee cushions on the seats. Anyway,” Sans ignores the playful glare directed towards him, “Let’s order. Whaddaya want?”

Before you can reply, Sans directs a casual, “Grillby, we’ll have a double order of fries.”

As Grillby walks off to retrieve the order, you turn to face Sans.

“You didn’t let me tell you what I wanted.”

“C’mon, you never order anything but fries,” Sans eyes Greater Dog for a moment, “ _You’re all bark and no bite_ , kid.”

As the two servings of fries are placed before you, you notice that the surrounding monsters haven’t shown any acknowledgement towards Sans’ exposed radius’.

**Was it really just common knowledge?**

**Were you the only person that didn’t know?**

**You wouldn’t be surprised if he simply did not trust you with that information.**

“You’re zoning out, kiddo. Everything okay?”

Although you didn’t see Sans eat anything, the quantity of fries in front of him were decreasing.

Meanwhile, yours remained untouched, something that did not go unrecognized by the skeleton beside you.

Noticing his stare, you begin picking at your fries to ease the tension.

“I’m fine.”

“No need to tell a _fibula_. What’s going on?”

You hesitated to tell him. You spend a few moments dragging soggy fries through piles of ketchup.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about… yours?” You put heavy emphasis on the concluding word. It felt inappropriate to mention it, being in the public as you were.

“Ahh,” Sans sips at the bottle of ketchup in front of him before continuing, “You’re young. I was worried I’d influence you to try it yourself, if you can believe that. In the end, it didn’t matter.”

“I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

The signs were definitely there.

From the stains on your sweater, to the way you scratched at your arm, (especially in stressful situations). 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve brought it up, but.. I didn’t think you’d want to be my friend, once you knew..” At the very least, you thought that Sans, or any of your monster friends, would’ve seen you in a different light, “I thought that, maybe, you’d think I was some.. Freak.”

“It’s okay,” Sans response was immediate, without hesitation, although he didn’t turn towards you right away, “You can always talk to us, you can always talk to me.”

“We’re family, Frisk. Don’t ever forget that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't expect this fic to become some uber popular piece. This chapter is short, and with good reason, I didn't expect to add on to the first part. I was considering it, right after I finished the first chapter, and one specific comment, from TheFlyingBowser, to be exact, gave me the extra push to sit down and make this chapter. It isn't as long as the first, and I completed it within an hour. To know that at least one person enjoyed reading it made my entire day.
> 
> Not as much puns as before, but Sans remains this beacon of positivity. It's a generally touchy subject that people are uncomfortable with, right? I had hoped that Sans could balance out the negative aspects of this fic, which aren't super detailed, but y'know, it is what it is.
> 
> Don't forget to take care of yourself.


End file.
